Wasteland
by Bob Sageyt
Summary: My Sci-Fi story originally written for school. it got an 'A' from a Nazi of an English teacher, so why not read it? A man living in a post-nuclear-apocolyptic world is one day approached by a man who talks of a safe town- a Utopia. Will our hero go?


**Alright, I'm going to say this first: This isn't really a Fallout fanfiction. Why did I put it under Fallout then? (By the way, I highly encourage you to continue reading.) If you haven't read my profile page, or if I didn't put it on there, you probably don't know much about me. I'm in 8th grade (this is actually relevant, I'm not just ranting about myself for the hell of it). My English teacher assigned everyone in my class to write a science-fiction story. Being a lazy ass, I decided to write a story loosely related to the Fallout universe. Set in a wasteland, crazy-ass bandits out to kill everything that moves, yada-yada. I took a few liberties here and there as to how the wateland come to be, but other than that, it's pretty much the same. I figured I might as well post my story on here to see what you guys all thought. I don't find this story noticeably good, but I got an 'A', so why not. So, without further ado, I'll shut the hell up about my boring life, and you can finally read the goddamn story. Enjoy.**

Wasteland

I walked lazily down the desert road, hearing the sound of sand scraping against my boots. The sun glared down angrily at me, brutally hot as ever. A strong gust of wind howled angrily at me, but I ignored it; I was hunting. I had to concentrate. I took a three-hundred-sixty degree look around myself, and surveyed the barren surrounding area for any prey. I stood in a dry, dead wasteland, once a bustling city filled with people. But now there were no people left. There were no people left after the bombs fell. I thought back to when I first heard the apocalyptic news. I thought back to 10 years ago, the year 2025.

Nearly every country in the world was waging a massive war against one another, with no alliances. Everyone fought for themselves. The US, China, and Russia had been the leaders in the battle, the true titans of this bloody war. But when China dropped the first nuclear warhead upon Washington DC, there were no winners - only death and destruction. The initial blast destroyed everything in its path, and the fallout made quick work of the rest of the state's population. The US retaliated with a nuke to Beijing, and eventually society had been reduced to wondering which state would be eradicated by a bomb that day. After China and the US were locked in battle, Russia attacked both of the weakened countries, and pretty soon everyone was bombing each other. Each of the titans stamped out smaller countries with only more bombs, until only those three remained. Eventually they all unleashed their final strike upon one another. In a matter of minutes, humans became an endangered species. Each country was decimated, left as nothing but barren wastelands- dry, empty, and deadly. The world had become lawless. Bandits roamed the lands, killing and stealing as they pleased. If you didn't have a gun, you were nothing but a casualty waiting to happen.

Death by bandits, disease, starvation, or mutants (The fallout had been cruel) awaited the unarmed.

I tore my mind from the past as I spotted something moving in the distance. It looked like a deformed dog, limping past a dead, burnt tree. I lifted up my rifle, and looked down the scope. I steadied my aim, and took the shot. A loud gunshot cracked the eerie silence, and the dog fell with a yelp. I smiled to myself, and started to trudge towards it. The corpse was only about 100 yards away, so I felt no need to rush. You rarely needed to rush in the wasteland. A bellow of wind kicked up some dirt around me, and I quickly reacted; my hands flew to the goggles I always wore on my forehead, and I snapped them down in preparation of the oncoming sandstorm.

I felt small pebbles pattering against my faded brown leather jacket, and blue jeans. I pulled a red bandana up to cover my face, and ran over to the body. I slung it over my shoulder, and ran towards a cluster of dead trees for shelter. As I sat hunched over in the rough dirt, I looked at my dead prey to examine it. I saw something odd as I looked upon its flesh. I saw where my bullet had entered, a clean shot through the throat. But I noticed another bullet-hole in its torso, and it was fresh. I hadn't done that. All of a sudden, I knew that the vicious sandstorm raging around me was the least of my worries. There were two possibilities: One was that just another hunter was nearby and had shot it. Or there was the more frightening possibility, which was more likely (yet I prayed it wasn't what had happened): A group of bandits was nearby, and they were armed.

I cautiously rose to my feet, and peered through the dirt swirling in my face best that I could. I didn't see anyone, so I started running in the direction of the cave where I'd set up camp recently, using the sand bellowing around me as cover during my mad dash. As I desperately sprinted towards safety, I heard my worst fears confirmed. I heard the sound of car engines raring, and men laughing crazily. Bandits always traveled in cars (usually SUV's or dune buggies modified for small-time warfare), and usually in packs. On average, there were usually 3 or 4 cars in a pack of bandits, with 5 men per car. No matter how you did the math, when you saw bandits, you'd better run like the devil.

I dropped the dead animal I had slung over my shoulders, without slowing down from my current pace, knowing that eating was the least of my worries right now. I finally emerged from the cloud of blinding dust, and saw that my cave was at least half a mile away. I wasn't going to make it running. I had to fight. I turned back towards the dust cloud, and saw my enemy. An old, rusted dune buggy carried 4 men at me, and at alarming speed. One was driving, and the rest were all leaning out of the car, aiming at me with their pistols. I plunged my hand into the deep recesses of the backpack I kept my weapons and ammunition in, searching for my tool of destruction. After a quick few seconds of digging, I pulled a hand grenade from the beaten-up rucksack. I pulled the pin, took my aim, and threw it forward. Luck was on my side. The grenade landed right in front of the car, and they couldn't stop before it detonated with an earsplitting crack, leaving their car nothing but some mismatched, smoldering mufflers and parts. I tried not to think of the lives I had just taken to preserve my own, because even though they were bandits, killing is never easy, nor desirable. I trudged back over to the dog I had dropped, picked it up again, and set off for my cave again.

* * *

When I reached the mouth of the cave, I slid my dinner off my shoulders and onto the ground, and collapsed to the dirt I stood upon with exhaustion. The sun still hung high in the cloudless sky, so I had a few hours until I would need to start cooking my food. I crawled into the shade of the cave, and reached over to a large jug of water lying in the dirt next to my bedroll. I quenched my thirst, and looked out to the massive wasteland before me. It was all mine. I didn't have to take orders from anyone, or go to any job. All I had to do was survive.

Some people would've gone crazy by now, but not me. I never was all that social. I didn't need people. I just needed a glass of water every 3 days, and some food to munch on at night. You needed to be ruthless to survive in this desert, and I was ruthless.

As I looked out onto my wasteland, I saw something extremely unnerving. I saw a man. There was a man, coming towards my cave. I couldn't tell if he was armed or not, since he was pretty far away. I dug through my backpack for a minute, and produced a pair of binoculars. I peered through them to see a blonde, curly-haired man with no weapons making his way to my shelter, dressed in some blue jeans and a sweatshirt. He wasn't noticeably fat; but he wasn't noticeably thin either. I could see even with the poor focus of my binoculars that his mouth hung open with thirst, and he looked exhausted. All in all, he looked harmless enough.

I removed the binoculars, slung my canteen's strap over my shoulder, picked up my rifle, and stood to greet him. After a few more minutes of walking, he reached the mouth of the cave. He coughed out a few words.

"D-do you have any w-water?" he choked out. "May I h-have some?" He looked to me hopefully, and I knew if I didn't nourish him now, he would die soon. I wordlessly held out my arm, holding the open canteen in my hand, filled to the brim with water. He thankfully walked over to me, and drank every drop from the container greedily. He handed the empty canteen back to me with a smile on his face, and said "Thank you." I noticed him eyeing the gear I wore and the items in my cave, but thought nothing of it.

"You're welcome," I replied, "now explain to me why you're in the middle of the most hostile area within 100 miles of here, with no food, and no weapons." I said curtly.

"I came here from the Utopia," he panted "our population is beginning to dwindle. We need more people to keep the colony running, so I've been approaching anyone who looks friendly." He said, obviously hoping that I would follow him back to his home.

"I look friendly to you? And what's all this about a utopia?" I responded curiously. I began to trudge back inside the shade of my cave, and gestured him to enter my shelter. We both sat down in the dirt across from each other, and he began to speak.

"The Utopia is a colony of non-violent people that live in a perfect society. Since money is obsolete these days, everyone works to make sure that all mouths are fed. It could be said that it's relatively similar to communism back in the days of proper society, but this is perfected. We've built relatively modern buildings, and have some working electricity. We want to try to rebuild earth back to its former glory, so that humanity can once again prosper. Our population fell recently when a plague struck, so now we number somewhere around only 100." He explained. That stopped me cold.

"W-wait, _only_ 100? I didn't think there were 100 people alive at all around here… How far away is your village?" I said with disbelief.

"About 50 miles. Probably a good day's walk, if we begin our journey first thing in the morning. Are you interested in coming with me?" I had to think hard. Each time he told me more about the colony, my dislike of interacting with people shrank more and more. My decision was made.

"Yes. Yes, I'll come with you. Can we set out tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. I'm sure everyone will be glad to have a newcomer." He said happily, smiling at my compliance to join him.

"Now tell me more about this colony." I said. The man introduced himself as Desmond, and I in turn gave my name, Jacob. He told me the Utopia had been started 3 years ago, and before the plague struck, they numbered nearly 300. It had a functioning government that kept order, and everyone was friendly. After a few hours of talking, night fell. I started a small fire, impaled my prey from earlier on a spit, and began to roast our dinner. The darkness in the desert was menacing, but as long as we stayed inside the safety of our cave, we would be fine. Desmond walked over to me, and stared into the mesmerizing flames. He asked me a question.

"Jacob, what did you used to do," he inquired. "You know, before the bombs fell…" He added quickly.

"I was a student. I was in 10th grade when society ended. My town wasn't hit by bombs or fallout, but mutants destroyed everything. They were… Monsters, purely evil monsters… I had a father, mother, and younger brother. We stayed boarded up in our house, but eventually the mutants found us. My father tried to fight them off when they invaded our house, but… he perished. About three days after our food ran out, my mom left the house in search of food, and told my brother and me to stay inside. She never returned. After two days, I took our family car, grabbed my brother, and left the devastated town. I headed off into the country, away from the monsters that lurked within the cities. Eventually my brother died of illness. I was left alone. I made my way to this wasteland. And here I stand." I narrated. My life was a sad story, but I continued to live it nonetheless.

"That's awful." Desmond sympathized. ""Well in the Utopia, there will be none of that. Other than our plague, all of our deaths have been from old age or freak accidents." He reassured me. I handed him a leg from the dog, and we both ate happily. We chatted for a little while longer after eating, and then went to sleep in preparation of our journey.

* * *

I woke up and yawned. I stood up, stretched, and then looked over to Desmond laying peacefully on his bedroll. I gave him a gentle tap, and he awoke. I gestured him to gather up his things, and get ready to set out. He put his bedroll in a backpack, I stored away some food and tools in my bag, and we set off.

After walking down the empty road for nearly two hours, we encountered our first obstacle. A human-looking mutant was wandering around in the road, and it spotted us. It looked up from its aimless stumbling, howled with thirst for blood, and charged at us. He was only about 100 yards away, so I had no time to reach into my bag for a proper weapon. No rifles this time; just me and my trusty machete. I raised the tip of my blade in preparation to meet my attacker, and he continued towards me. As he leaped into a flying-tackle aimed at me, I ducked, waited until he was directly above me, and slashed at his side. He collided into the ground shrieking with anger and pain, got back up, and ran at me again. This time I let him make contact with me, and as he wrapped his arms around my torso, I plunged my weapon deep into his chest, and tore it out violently. He fell to the ground for his last time in a spray of black blood, writhed in the dirt for a few seconds, then started moving progressively slower and slower. As I saw him fading away slowly, I thought I saw a glint of sadness in his eyes. For a second, I almost felt bad for him. For a second, he nearly seemed human. But that was life. Eventually your luck ran out, and you died. That was the wasteland.

I tore my eyes from the grisly scene at my feet, and ushered Desmond to continue leading me to his colony. The sun still hung in the sky, so I knew that it would be a while until we reached our destination. I let my mind wander, and watched the changeless desert scenery pass slowly by me.

* * *

I saw a building in the distance. _Finally, we've reached the Utopia!_ I thought excitedly to myself. I looked over to Desmond, who smiled at me and nodded, confirming that I was right. The sun had almost set completely, and its red light made the sand around me look as if it were set ablaze. I broke into a run for the village, and Desmond quickened his walking pace. After about 5 minutes, I could see the collection of houses even better. They were all painted white, and there were a lot of them. I could see torches burning, which struck me as odd, since Desmond had said they had some electricity. _Hmm,_ I thought, _that's a little bit strange. They must wait until darkness to turn on the lights I guess._ I charged onward, looking to my feet as I ran past my point of exhaustion. I finally entered the town, running past houses. I laughed with joy, waiting until I reached a clearing in the middle of the village to finally look up to my new home. I was met by something far different from what I expected. It was empty. I looked around myself with confusion, seeing no other people. And I noticed the houses. They weren't exactly houses. They were shacks, and the white paint I'd seen on all of them earlier was chipped and dirty. I was suddenly aware that I was alone.

"Desmond?" I called out. "Desmond, where are you? There aren't any people out here. Is this some kind of welcoming-practical-joke?" Desmond?"

"Oh, we aren't alone," Said Desmond as he stepped into the clearing near me. "Trust me." The clearing I stood in was big; I stood about 50 yards away from any buildings. And the buildings - I saw that some had bullet-holes in them. I was scared now. Desmond clapped his hands twice, and I heard doors opening all around me. I looked around, hoping to look into the kind eyes of happy villagers. I didn't. Instead I looked into iron-sights, and gun barrels. I had been tricked! I was surrounded by a huge mob of vicious bandits, all of them armed. Theses shacks had been painted white to deceive people into coming here. There was no Utopia. This was a bandit stronghold.

Desmond stepped out from the mob of killers, smiling manically. I saw him for what he was now: A con-man. He had earned my trust, and lured me here. He had lied to me, and taken advantage of my desperation for civilization.

"So, how do you like it? Pretty nice place, eh?" He sneered.

"You cheat! You lied to me, and brought me here to be robbed and executed!" I shouted furiously. I slid my backpack off, and began to pull my rifle out.

"Ah-ah-ah," Desmond taunted, "I wouldn't advise that. If you so much as pull a gun out, all of my friends here will open fire." He mockingly held out an open hand. "Give it here."

"You're going to shoot me anyway," I said, quickly producing my machine-gun, "So I might as well do something!" I unloaded my gun into the crowd where Desmond stood, and I heard a deadly choir of gunshots erupt all around me. I ran forward, hearing bullets whiz past me, and feeling the agony of some nicking me in the legs and arms. By the time I reached the crowd, I'd cleared an opening to run through.

I started weaving in and out of houses, using them as cover as the mob chased me and split up to follow me all around. As I ran down between two small houses, I felt an agonizing rip in my chest. I fell to the ground, and painfully dragged myself behind one to take some cover.

I looked down to the source of the pain, and saw a bullet-hole. There was a gaping bullet-hole in the middle of my chest, with blood pouring out of it. I knew that I was done. Nobody could survive a wound like that, especially not with at least 100 blood-thirsty murderers chasing after them. I couldn't run like this. I couldn't escape.

I had been lied to. I had been tricked into coming here. I had been lured into a trap, to meet a premature death. _I'm not ready to die. This isn't my time._ I thought._ But this is life. Eventually your luck runs out, and you die. This is the wasteland…_


End file.
